Hello friends, here’s to another blog post. Been seeming a tad dazed, just enough noticeable, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing – there’s no envy to be had for histrionics. Maybe there isn’t anything – I don’t know, a rule I usually uphold is that it’s best not to state anything if you can help it. That is, if you say you’re feeling numb, then you’re gonna feel numb even if you weren’t before.
Anyways, for the past couple of weeks I’ve been flipping through 00s singles and maybe that was part of the onset. To combat it so lately I’ve found it more productive to write short stories because it can help capture a thought more than blogposting it. You get to set the whole scenery and the details which tips the scale ever so slightly another direction.
I think sometimes a blogpost is nice because it simulates a conversation where you can direct it anywhere you want. Maybe that’s the nice thing about social media: the freedom to – as long as you read the terms & conditions of internet (probable) permanence – write what you want, interact with whoever for a reprieve from the usual. Though I have to admit I’m not sure if there is an alternative. It’s interesting that parasociality is the new skill-set to acquire; maybe it’s a “layer 3” loadout to learn.
Though if I could close my eyes to a cool 20 million I always admit I don’t think I’d change much of anything about my life anyway. So it’s funny to write “reprieve” as though there needs to be. I don’t think so. Maybe some novelty would help.
One feat rather rare nowadays is eating alone without a screen. I do it every couple of days. I make my primary meal around a cool 2 and eat while staring out the window. There’s a hidden peace all around if you look for it, probably, if you could, if you could fend off the urge to wonder what’s next in our shared story tapestry which, if for a moment, one could possibly be rused into thinking something did happen – which, I could protest, definitely will, most likely, everythings a crescendo, though it doesn’t change staring out a window.
When I was younger I couldn’t understand why Pessoa made his personas and wrote at length; but with some short stories I guess you could get a taste of immortality. The ballroom gets the curtain lift and there it is, everyone through history tapping along or a feather pen for the aesthetically inclined. But if you ever wrote with a feather pen I think it’s a serious transgression in ergonomics. If there ever was an isekai to write, it ought to be selling people ergonomics on the off-chance you could make the medieval store more entertaining with the villagers whispering about some recliner magic.
I hope to write more satire if I could help it. Because sometimes I always say that writing lends toward a melancholic taste, contemplatives dominating the scene toward a downpaven’d scenery – and so I wonder what could articulate a life more than caricatures of today. That is, if you could stumble through that which is so absurd you can’t twist it further, which sometimes seems like a good chunk of material to siphon from.
But as lifeless a set of system-ui font rendered in a muted slate blue commands, so I always wonder how much life I could animate into it. It’s not really about immortality; I think it’s about animating more than anything. I can’t necessarily stand to attend any bar, so this is the second best venue, and while I’m here why not take it in?
There were a few “speak-easys” I managed a bar night floating around with another intern and his girlfriend and there was an apple cider mixture in front of me staring out from the booth, beneath the alleys of Capitol Hill (re: autonomous zone), and I couldn’t help but wonder if there’s some radiance missing from the neons or ambers. If you’re going to drink, wouldn’t you rather be slightly insane?
There’s an uncomfortable amount of sanity to drinking or some bingeeatings and getting the menu for a collection of mixtures to disguise the burn of alcohol. But I’d rather agree with my alcoholic ghost friend that it’s the burn in the stomach and the warmth to flood which makes it worthwhile. If we’re considering the poison may as well inhale it and start a cheer, singing arm and shoulder Mr. Brightside.
So if we won’t sing out there, or one is so inhibited and fidgety to never take a lead, so at least one could bother something blogposting. I think it’s just a delusion about bordering toward non-existence. A blogpost once in awhile is a great detergent from bordering a void. Have some inputs, make some outputs; perfectly solved, make a blogpost.